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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMLiiK A. 



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THE ANGEL AT THE SEPULCHRi: 



ESTHER B. TIFFANY 



ILLUSTRATEII I!V 

WILLIAM S. TIFFANY 



BOSTON, U. S. A. 

L. PRANG AND COMPANY 



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L. PRANG & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A, 



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THE ANGEL AT THE SEPULCHRE. 



CHARACTERS. 

AGNES. GOTTFRIED. HER YOUNG SON. COUNT WALTER. 



[Aj^nes's cliamber. Agnes tendin^^ an Easter lily that blooms in a pot on the 
zvindozv ledge.] 

Agnes. 

Spake, as he stooped to kiss me in his mail, 

My lord Count Walter : " Plant in generous earth 

This lily bulb. A palmer brought it me. 

And when, at Easter-tide, its slender shaft 

With regal coronal of pearl is tipt, 

So wills it fair St. Michael, I return." 

So saying, left me, and the gabled street, 
Ablaze in noonday splendor, smitten seemed 
With sudden blight and torpor, but the spires. 
The spires, soaring upward to the blue. 
They saw him yet, and pealed e.xultant bells, 
And watched him o'er the river and the plain. 
My lord Count Walter ; watched him as he rode 
With helm and cuirass and with blazoned shield, 
Till even they, with eastward straining eyes, 
Grew sorrowful, lamenting, " He is gone ! " 

O bells that watched him from your eyrie lowers ! 
O joyous bells that ring this Easter-tide 
And fill the air with clamor, soon for me 
Your muffled lips shall echo, " She is gone ! " 



The Angel at tJie Sepulchre. 



For Easter lilies fragrant bloomed and died, 
And bloomed again and withered into dust, 
Nor saw my lord return from holy war. 
And seven years twice over have I mourned, 
With leaden heart, uncheered, disconsolate. 
Save for the rearing of the babe whose eyes 
Have never looked upon his father's face. 

And so the years creep on, and spring is here, 
And Easter-tide. At Easter-tide it was 
We met upon the meadows, where the lark 
Was out before us. In the hush of dawn 
We stood, the youths and maidens of the town. 
All in the blessed morn, to watch the sun 
Leap in the heavens, as is Easter wont. 

Again I saw him at the minster mass, 
And yet again, thrice more, — I count the times 
As children count the swallows in the spring, — 
And then, a simple burgher maiden I, 
Yet did he stoop and wed me for his love. 
And braved his father's anger and his house. 
And bode a blissful twelvemonth, till the din 
Of battle woke the warrior in his blood, 
And drove him over sea to Palestine. 

[Etitcr Gottfried, attired as an atiffcl for the Easter celebration in ike eatheelral.'] 

Agnes. 

So fair thou standest, and so weak am I, 
I took thee for the shining messenger 
Our Father soon must send. 

Gottfried. 

Thou shalt not die! 



The Angel at the Sepulchre. 



" Whom seek ye ?" asks the angel of the tomb. 
And maketh answer Mary Magdalen, 
"Jesus of Nazareth, Him crucified." 
To whom the angel, " Lo, he is not here ! " 
And then — but hearken how upon the air 
The sacred hymn is swelling, even now. 

I Cathedral choir. J 

Pone luctum, Magdalena ! 

Et Serena lacrymas. 
Jam non est Simonis coena, 

Non, cur fletum exprimas : 
Causae mille sunt Isetandi, 
Causae mille exultandi : 

Halleluia ! 



{Cathedral porch. Count Walter, repeating to himself one of his early love songs.\ 

" If God should say, ' My throne to grace 
Go pluck me lilies, Azrael,' 
Death's angel, with his shining face, 
Would seek the spot where thou dost dwell ; 

And touching softly as a breath 

Thy virgin head where thou alone 

Dost kneel, would whisper, ' Come, God saith, 

I will have lilies for my throne.' " 

How the fond rh\mes ring echoing in my ears 
I writ for Agnes in her maidenhood 
That Easter morn. Who is the radiant boy 
That sits within upon the sepulchre, 



The Angel at the Sepulchre. 



And stirs my heart and makes my pulses beat 

With quenchless love and longing ? Oh ! my wife. 

Untimely snatched away, and I afar 

In Palestine, when, dread, the tidings came ! 

Brought them my brother. "She is dead," he said, 

" Her babe within her arms." And then himself 

Fell, smitten by the bloody Saracen. 

And at the bitter words all thought of home 

Grew hateful, and twice seven years I fought. 

Till a fierce longing seized me, and I toiled 

O'er land and sea, a wftiry, heart-sick way, 

And heard these Easter bells, and saw the throng 

Of pious people at the minster door, 

And entered with them and beheld a tomb, 

And seated on the tomb a youth who bore 

A lily, and his eyes were as the eyes 

Of Agnes, and I fled from out the place. 

[Gottfried comes throngJi the portal^ 

I pray you now that flower that you hold ! 

Gottfried. 

Well may'st thou ask me for the hallowed thing ; 
The priest has blessed it, and those shining drops 
Are holy water glistening on its leaves. 

Count Walter. 

I pray you give it me. Come, here 's a ring 
Will buy you thousand such. You shake your head .' 
This dagger then, the sheath is sown with pearls. 
Still say me nay .-' What is the lily's price.'* 

Gottfried. 
No price ; my mother loves it, and she dies. 



The Angel at tlie Sepulchre. 



Count Walter. 

Thou hast a mother ? Nor on gleaming wing 
Didst newly light, thy lily in thy hand, 
From starry courts ? And flittest not away 
At set of sun to join thy brotherhood ? 

Gottfried. 
My mother waits. 

Count Walter. 

How well his angelhood 
Becomes the boy ! Who is thy mother, pray ">. 

Gottfried. 

A widow, and she sits alone and mourns. 
Nor knoweth when he died, nor how nor where, 
Her lord, Count Walter of the Falkenfels, 
My father. Nay, unhand me, I must go. 
What is your will .? Your pallid lips are dumb ; 
You stare upon me with your starting eyes, 
As I were thing unholy. Let me pass. 

Count Waltek. 

Thy father — Walter of the Falkenfels ! 
Living — thy mother — -Agnes — and he swore 
On reeking sword hilt, swore me she was dead. 
In rancor of her lowly birth and name. 
Remorseless of my anguish. 

Gottfried. 

In thy beard 
So dost thou mutter that I hear thee not. 



The Angel at the Sepulchre. 



Count Walter. 

And deems me dead ! And mourning wastes away 
Thou liest when thou spoke, " My mother dies ! " 
Myself will pluck her back. But gently, stay — 
So frail a thing and tender. Go thou now, 
Fair boy, fair spirit, thou with Agnes' eyes, 
Say — (how the words I writ her long ago 
Beat in my bosom), " When the Father calls 
And Azrael be standing at thy door, 
Beseech them, Nay, not yet ! for there is one 
Thy holy presence needeth more than God." 

Gottfried. 
I understand thee not. 

Count Walter. 

And further say, 
" He waiteth at thy threshold for a sign. 
The lily send him by the messenger 
That brought it thee, so be it thou wilt turn 
Thine eyes from Heaven to his yearning arms ! " 

\Agucs s chainhi-r.\ 

Agnes (ivith a vase of pure wdtcr). 

Deep in its ferny channel, forest-bound, 
The hermit brook makes music whence this came. 
I too, in maiden days, went joyous forth 
'Neath the pale stars, and on the mossy brink 
Knelt silent, while from crystal pool I dipt 
My ewer full, to carry heedful home 
And sprinkle wall and image, for they say 
That running water drawn with pious rite 
On holy Easter morning, worketh weal. 



The Angel at the Sepulchre. 



And this cloth Gottfried bring me in his love, 
And bids me freely drink, and smile again. 
Dear boy, rebellious that I fade and die. 

{Enti-r Gottfried.] 

Gottfried. 

Behold your flower, mother, and without 
A sunburned knight there stands, of noble mien 
But wandering words, and weareth by his side 
A jewelled dagger. I had worn the same 
Myself, had I but willed it, for the knight — 

Agnes. 
Where ? O ye Heavens ! 

Gottfried. 

Why, upon the porch, 
And bade me say — but, mother, thou art flushed 
As any rose ! Nay but a wondrous thing 
The holy water dipped at Easter morn ! 

Agnes. 
And bade thee say — the knight — and bade thee say — 

Gottfried. 

First, kiss me, mother. Why, the knight — the knight - 
He said — the knight — What matter what he .said, 
Since thou art done with dying. 

Agnes. 

But he said — 



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